


how to be a human being

by icelyvelvet



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Android Hank Anderson, Character Death, Connor Deserves Happiness, Detective Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Dogs, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Ratings may change, Reverse! AU, Role Reversal, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, angst later on, reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 16:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15538167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icelyvelvet/pseuds/icelyvelvet
Summary: Hank HK800 makes Connor feel more alive than he ever has as a human and Connor makes Hank feel dangerous things he shouldn't be feeling as an android.Reverse AU! Android Hank and Detective Connor.





	how to be a human being

Hank can barely blink before the sharp silver bullet slices through the air and embeds itself in his chest. He feels the impact, he feels himself falling unto his back with a heavy thud and he feels the bullet pierce his thirium pump regulator. 

Hank touches the wound and when he brings his hand up, his LED flashes a bright red. His fingers are coated with a deep blue liquid, running down his wrist and staining the white of his sleeve with no signs that he’s going to stop bleeding any time soon. If he was human, it would hurt like hell right now. 

“Fuck,” is the last thing Hank manages to say. 

Hank loses track of what’s going on as the world slows down around him. Had the bullet directly hit his thirium pump, he would’ve been an instant goner. He doesn’t feel lucky at all that it didn’t. 

Now, there is nothing he can do as his systems begin to fail and he starts to shut down. 

There’s incoherent shouting and he feels his body being moved across the floor as someone drags him away from the open. 

“Hank! Shit, Hank, wake up,” a voice says above him. Hank registers high levels of stress and panic in the voice, and that it belong to Detective Connor, the officer he’s been assigned to at the Detroit police force. 

Oh, Connor. If there was a singular reason as to why things have been going to shit, it would all start at the very moment Hank met him.

»»-------------¤-------------««

The soft murmur of voices, the occasional beeping of phones echo against the sleek black floor and transparent glass walls. Everyone is busy doing something but the environment is peaceful, and it seems like a nice workplace.

Hank feels bloody uncomfortable though. From walking around the office to sitting idly, there’s only so much to do after he’d waited more than half an hour for the person he was sent to assist. It only takes one attempt to permanently store all the information he’d gathered from the officer’s desk in his database. With only a stale box of stale donuts (nearly two days old) on his desk and dog hair (too assorted to determine specific breeds) stuck to the chair, there’s hardly anything else noteworthy. The officer’s desk is oddly bereft of personal items or anything that detailed his job experiences. This was terrible news to Hank. He hardly knew anything about who he had to work with, not because CyberLife didn’t have enough information to share, but because it was their intention to send Hank as a blank slate and see how well he can deduce by himself. 

How long was he going to have to wait for this fool? Standing up from the chair, Hank heads out to the reception where he wouldn’t stand out as much among these working human officers. 

As Hank is about to pass the electronic gates, someone bursts in from the automatic glass doors, too preoccupied in a hurried frenzy to even look up. With one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee and another busy swiping his ID across the scanner, the man walks straight into Hank’s chest. 

The plastic lid on the cup of coffee the man’s holding bumps right off and a spray of dark brown liquid sloshes back unto himself, soaking into the black fabric of his uniform jacket. 

His LED flashing from red to yellow, Hank’s hands dart up to both sides of the guy’s shoulders, steadying him before anymore coffee is spilled. 

“Oh, fuck, seriously?” the guy swears, dismay splaying across his face. A loose curl of hair falls unto his forehead when he steps back to look down at himself. He seems young, flustered and disordered- most likely a rookie, Hank thinks. 

“Watch where the hell you’re going,” Hank says brusquely. 

“Wha-?” the officer sputters, sounding offended. He suspiciously looks Hank over from head-to-toe, sizing him up. 

“Who are you even? Aren’t you too old to be playing dress-up?” the guy asks. He takes a glance at the watch on his wrist and his brown eyes widen. 

“You know what? Don’t bother answering, I’m late as hell and Fowler’s going to fucking kill me,” he mutters, mostly to himself before he dashes past Hank and into the office.

Hank is nearly finished analyzing the stranger’s identity, but he’s already ran away. Turning around to see the officer’s back heading into Captain Fowler’s room, a sinking feeling worms its way through Hank’s gut and he’s got a pretty big bet on who he is. 

Just minutes later, the LED of the receptionist at the desk blinks and she looks up at Hank. “Hank android, Captain Fowler is calling for you in his office now,” she says. 

“Yeah, thought so,” Hank replies with a curt nod before heading inside the office. 

Sure enough, the man who just bumped into him is sitting on one of the two chairs facing Captain Fowler with his arms crossed. He’s taken off his stained jacket and draped it over the chair. Without the unironed jacket, he looks a little more ready for work wearing his white dress shirt and leather holster stretched across his shoulders. 

“Captain Fowler, Detective Anderson,” Hank greets.

“Take a seat,” Fowler says, busy typing away at his desktop. 

Pulling out the chair to sit, Hank makes eye contact with Connor Anderson who’s staring at him incredulously. He stares back unflinchingly, daring the other male to say something. Connor seems like he’s considering it, but turns to talk to Fowler instead. 

“That’s it? _That’s_ him?” Connor says. “Captain, when you said CyberLife sent over their latest model to help us, I was sort of expecting something a little more...different.” 

“Well shit, Connor, I can’t exactly ask CyberLife to send over their prettiest android, can I? This is for work, not play, and we need all the help we can get,” Fowler says, still finding whatever he has on the screen more important than the detective.

“I’m not asking...” Connor begins to protest, sneaking sideway glances at Hank as if he’s too hesitant to directly look at him. “Look, if CyberLife wants to test out their inspector robot here, that’s fine, but what the heck is he supposed to be?” 

“I’m right fucking here. I can hear you.” 

Captain Fowler sighs, pausing his work to pull up new files on his screen. He squints, reading out what’s written on them. 

“It’s the... ‘hard boiled detective’ prototype, tough, cynical- I ain’t got time to read out everything CyberLife sent over, Connor. Whatever it is, you can just read the rest on your own. I’ve sent the files over to you,” Fowler says. 

Connor, who was in the midst of taking a sip of his coffee (he must’ve gotten a new cup), nearly spits out his drink. He coughs, one hand on his chest as he looks over at Hank and back at Fowler. 

“I think you got the April Fools date wrong, Captain. I see how it is- Reed set you up to this, didn’t he?” Connor demands, “Congratulations, this is all very funny. You can stop messing with me now.” 

“You’re some guy they pulled off the street for this silly prank, aren’t you?” Connor says, turning to Hank. “How much are they paying you to do this?” 

“Clearly not enough,” Hank replies, annoyance starting to settle in. “I see now why CyberLife believed that the Detroit police was in dire need of help.” 

Fowler sighs heavily, finally breaking his attention away from the computer. 

“Connor, I’ve been putting up with your ass for more than seven years,” Fowler says, his voice a low roll of thunder and his face spelling out how terribly fed up he is. “Take a good hard look at me- do I really, really look like the kind to joke around on this?” 

The situation finally dawning upon him, Connor opens his mouth to reply, but decides against it, choosing to stare dejectedly at Hank instead as if everything was somehow his fault. 

“If you’ve got any further questions, direct them to yourself. Or the nearest CyberLife help desk,” Fowler says, returning to his work. “Now that you’re clear with what’s going on, get back on with your deviant case. It’s been weeks and nothing’s moved forward, seems like you could do with some help anyway.” 

“Unbelievable,” Connor says, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he gives up protesting anyway. Breathing out heavily, he stands and sweeps up his jacket from the chair before striding out of Fowler’s office in a huff. 

Hank observes Fowler for his reaction, but from the looks of his face, Connor’s behavior just seems overly familiar to him.

“You’ll get used to it. That boy gets the job done, even graduated top of his class- he’d be going places if he wasn’t such a loose cannon,” Fowler says when he catches Hank’s questioning gaze. “You better get your ass moving before he starts without you.” 

“...thank you for your time, Captain Fowler,” Hank says. He stands up, leaving the office and heads out after Connor. 

The detective is already at his desk, pretending to be extremely engrossed in the work on his computer as if he wasn’t four hours late. He underestimates Hank’s vision though, because Hank is pretty damn sure he’s simply repeatedly typing and deleting the same sentence on a nearly blank report. 

“Is there a desk I could use or should I just stand behind yours for the rest of my time here?” Hank asks. 

“...The one right in front of me. If there’s no name plaque, then it’s free for use,” Connor replies, bristling visibly, but still doesn’t turn around to look at him. “All the files we need are on the system so knock yourself out.” 

“Got it. I don’t think you got my name, by the way. I’m Hank, the android sent by CyberLife,” Hank says, his introduction protocol kicking in.

“Yeah, Jeffrey told me earlier there,” Connor says, but doesn’t volunteer any further information about himself. 

As Hank takes a seat across Connor, the detective squints at Hank’s jacket. It’s still not making eye contact, but it’s a small improvement. 

“Hank for HK800, huh?” Connor says, a trace of amusement in his voice. “That’s kinda cu-“ 

Remembering that he’s supposed to be sulking and unhappy with the situation, Connor quickly cuts himself off, acting as if he didn’t say anything before he returns to brooding over his screen. 

Hank raises a brow, but follows suit and begins to browse the files on the deviant cases that CyberLife is particularly interested in. 

While he clicks through the different incidents and pictures of rogue androids, Hank finds it difficult to ignore the fact that Connor keeps sneaking glances at him from behind the holographic computer. He’s trying to be discreet, but he’s doing a piss poor job at it. 

“Is there something on my face?” 

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Connor replies quickly. His eyes dart back to his own screen and he leans into a presumably relaxed position on his chair, but it just comes off as terribly unnatural. 

Hank begins to realize that he might’ve been assigned to possibly the most socially awkward person on the force. 

“Detective Connor, there’s been a sighting of a missing android you might be interested in,” an officer says as he walks up to the desk, “I’ve sent the location over- best to check it out before it’s on the move.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Connor replies, his eyes lighting up. “I’ll get on it right away.”

Hank has a feeling fieldwork sparks a bigger interest in Connor more than paperwork. The detective gets up, removing whatever he needs from his soiled jacket. He takes a few steps and stops when he notices Hank standing as well. 

“...you’re following me?” 

“I highly doubt CyberLife sent me over to assist you with just filing your reports.” 

“Alright, smartass,” Connor says, walking away too fast for Hank to decipher whether or not he was unhappy about it. 

Connor walks in front of Hank, head down as he searches up the location on his phone. Another officer strolls in, and Hank sees a vicious glint in his eyes right before he deliberately bumps into Connor’s shoulder. 

“Not again,” Connor says exasperatedly as his phone is knocked out of his hands, but he manages to catch it in time. Hank can tell he recognizes the man, and he doesn’t seem too pleased to meet him. 

“Back off, Gavin. I’ve got no time for you today,” Connor says, recovering his stride and quickly exiting the electronic gates. 

The officer, who Hank identifies as Detective Gavin Reed, is about to respond to Connor- not with anything nice, he assumes- but his attention switches to what’s in front of him instead. 

“What the hell is this? I thought DPD has its fill of subhuman cops with Connor here, but now we get a tin can too?” Gavin sneers, “What model are you even?” 

“Detective Reed, I can schedule an optical examination for you at your earliest convenience.” 

“The fuck? What for?” 

“My model is printed as clear as daylight,” Hank says dryly, gesturing at his jacket, “If you’re unable to see it, then it’s only my duty to ensure your health is in good condition.” 

Having stopped out of curiosity to watch their interaction, Connor’s lips turn up into a small smile, but he immediately wipes it off his face when he realizes Hank noticing. 

“You piece of shit-“ Gavin snarls. 

“Hank, are you coming?” Connor interrupts. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do,” Hank says to Gavin, walking past him to join Connor. 

“You and your fucking tin can better watch it, Connor!” Gavin calls out from behind. 

“Just ignore him, he’s always like that,” Connor explains as he starts the car. 

...did CyberLife place Hank in a station with the highest number of officers with behavioral issues? 

Hank does a quick deduction of the possible reasons Connor was this late to work and concludes that it’s better if he wasn’t at the wheel. 

“I’ll drive,” Hank says, opening the passenger door for the detective. 

Connor seems like he’s about to protest, but ends up saying, “Suit yourself.” 

The speakers blast with heavy rock, a blend of beating drums and strumming guitars, that Hank finds quite surprisingly pleasing. As Hank drives, Connor preoccupies himself with his phone, but Hank senses there’s nothing really important on his screen and it’s just his way of not having to communicate. However, Hank needs this time to gather as much information as he can, social awkwardness be damned. 

“Detective Anderson, what are your feelings on androids?” Based on their earlier interaction, Hank figures Connor’s reaction could be because he simply wasn’t fond of androids. 

Connor looks up, slightly startled and says, “No.” 

Hank’s LED does a spin of confusion as he tries to decipher the non-sequitur answer, flickering from yellow back to blue. 

“It wasn’t a yes or no-“ 

“I’m not participating in anymore CyberLife surveys. Very sneaky, but I’m not sharing any personal data for free,” Connor says. 

“Also, you can call me Detective Conno- or just Connor, or whatever you want, really,” he adds with brilliant eloquence. 

“Noted, ‘whatever you want, really’,” Hank replies. 

“Okay, now you’re just fucking with me.” 

Incredibly flummoxed by Connor’s eccentricity, Hank decides to give up on learning anything from him for now- at least now he knows he’s awfully socially inept. 

They pull up at a run-down apartment and Connor leads them to the reported room. 

“Open up, it’s the Detroit police- we’ve been notified of suspicious activity,” Connor says, knocking the door. Indiscernible sounds can be heard through the walls, but as expected, there’s no reply. 

Hank watches Connor fumble with the lock for a few minutes before he sighs, pulling the detective aside. Based on his evaluation so far, Hank can’t imagine how Connor can deal with a deviant or even a criminal- surely CyberLife has made some sort of mistake with this assignment. 

“Let me handle this.” 

“No, I’ve got it-“ Connor insists, but he’s quickly silenced by the bang of Hank kicking the door open. 

They walk in the apartment room. The faded wallpaper on every wall that surrounded them is peeling away and it doesn’t seem like a pleasant place to live in. 

“Shit!” 

Just as Hank kneels down to analyze a pile of feathers, a flurry of wings bursts through a door Connor swung open. A mass of pigeons rush out, flying for the nearest opening and even Hank gets the urge to duck out of the way.

“You’re so lucky you aren’t bothered by the smell, because gosh, it stinks like hell,” Connor says, covering his nose with the sleeve of his shirt as he walks in. 

Hank hesitates, looking at the sea of moving grey blobs in the room and being hit with an irrational disgust. 

“What? You scared? Some feathery boys are gonna stop the android detective?” 

“You sound fucking ridiculous,” Hank says, striding in after Connor. “I’m a machine, I don’t feel.” 

Connor opens a window, letting in a gust of fresh air. The sunlight frames his face as he turns around to look at Hank a little too intently, rubbing his hands together. 

“I’ve never seen a machine like you. What’s up with the, uh, hair? Is having it that long practical?” 

“Everything about me was designed to fit the certain image CyberLife had in mind. Now, are we gonna investigate this place or do you want me to pull up my blueprints?” 

Apparently, Connor’s curiosity has finally overtaken his petty hostility. Surprisingly, he gets on to searching the room without another word, and Hank shouldn’t feel this guilty that Connor looked slightly hurt. 

After a few minutes of hunting down for clues, Hank has a fairly good idea of where the deviant is. As he edges towards the chair beneath the hole in the ceiling, his eyes meets Connor’s and he knows Connor has realized it as well. 

An image of Connor, awkward and stammering before the deviant, flashes in Hank’s mind. There’s no way this hot mess could handle a confrontation. Hank holds up his arm and warns, “Connor, no-“ 

It’s too late. Connor leaps up the chair and the suspect comes crashing down from the attic. Grabbing hold of him, Connor manages to pin him to the ground. 

“Don’t you dare move,” Connor says, his eyes dark with severity and his voice ice cold. All traces of the socially inept sap Hank met drains away before him. 

“You’re lost property belonging to Urban Farms of Detroit and-“ 

The android throws his weight backwards, knocking Connor off and making a beeline for the exit. Connor quickly recovers and is hot on the deviant’s heels not moments after. 

“Great, fuck this shit,” Hank swears as he runs after the two. 

Hank doesn’t have the time to be impressed by Connor’s parkour skills as they vault over building and buildings before the deviant runs into a greenhouse. He’s caught in a dead end as the only other opening is blocked by towering stack of supplies. 

“Give it up, there’s no where left for you to go,” Connor says, slowly inching forward to apprehend him. 

Out of options, the deviant glances around him, where the workers are thrown into a confusion and hurriedly leaving the scene. Hank recognizes fear and panic in his face- defective emotions- and detects a raise in thirium circulation. When the android reaches behind him, Hank sees it before Connor can. 

“Connor, watch it- he’s armed!” 

If Connor heard Hank, he sure as hell doesn’t pay any heed to his warning and even moves faster instead. The deviant whips out his gun and right at the few seconds before he squeezes his trigger, Hank pulls Connor back and shoves him behind a metal crate. 

The loud crack of a gunshot shakes the air and that is how Hank ended up on his back with a bullet bored through his chest. 

At the instant of frenzy, the deviant escapes through the way they came in. Hank sees the torn look on Connor’s face as he looks at the fleeing deviant and back at Hank.

Connor chooses to stay with Hank, a decision Hank sees as futile. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. What did you want to do, dodge the bullet?” Hank says as his systems shut down and Connor kneels down next to him. 

“Stay with me, Hank,” Connor pleads, pressing a hand to the wound as if it would do any help. 

Hank feels a twist of irony at the pained concern etched in Connor’s face and his voice. As everything blinks to black, he wishes he could tell Connor the same thing he said earlier: he’s a machine. He can’t die.

»»-------------¤-------------«« 

When Hank is reactivated, the first thing he sees is Amanda’s grim face, her hands crossed in front of her. He does a quick analysis and notes that it’s been almost a day since he was shot out of order.

“I’m extremely disappointed. Damages were expected, but not this early in the game,” she says. 

“Professor Stern, like I said, it was my fault-“ 

“I fail to remember when exactly I was addressing you, Detective Anderson.” 

Hank glances behind Amanda in confusion, and there’s Connor with the guiltiest expression on his face, looking like he hasn’t changed out of the clothes ever since. 

“What is he doing here?” Hank asks.

“That was my question precisely, but it’s not my priority right now,” Amanda replies, displeasure shining obviously in her voice. The glare in her eyes is sharp enough to cut through stone, and this only seems to make Connor more nervous. 

“I’ll catch up with you later when we have more...privacy. I expect progress the next time I see you,” Amanda says, giving one last look at Hank before she leaves. 

“She didn’t seem very happy to see me here,” Connor says. He runs his hands through his disheveled hair, puts them in his pockets before taking them out to clasp the back of his neck. In the state that he’s in, he’s a stark contrast against the pristine, methodical backdrop of the CyberLife Tower. 

“It’s weird but I remember that a few years ago, Professor Amanda Stern pas- you know, I probably remembered it wrongly. It doesn’t matter anyway,” Connor rambles. He forces his gaze to meet Hank, grasping at what to say before settling on, “So, uh, I’m Detective Connor from the Detroit Police?” 

Hank is amused to see Connor struggling this much. It’s almost enough to make him think that he imagined the cold, composed Connor dealing with the android the last time he saw him. 

“Memories from my predecessor are passed down to the next model- there’s no chance for you to start over an introduction, and even if there was, you already fucked it up,” Hank says. 

“Oh.”

Connor looks a little dejected, but mostly relieved. 

“I’m sorry about that...you dying.” 

“Try not to kill me this time, yeah?” Hank had a lot to say about it, but seeing how uncomfortable Connor already is, he decides to give a pass on him. 

As they walk out to Connor’s car, a dozen things are troubling Hank’s thoughts. Amanda had every right to be upset- ensuring his officer’s wellbeing is a priority coded into him, but so was solving the case, and he’s pretty sure the latter held a heavier weight. So why did he just about jeopardize the mission for Connor? There must’ve been a miscalculation or a minor mistake in his software, Hank concludes, but it’s an unsatisfactory conclusion. 

There’s another question as well.

“The hell are you doing here?” Hank asks as he gets into Connor’s car. “You didn’t have to drive all the way out here and wait for god knows how long. CyberLife would’ve sent me to the station either way.” 

Connor looks surprised, as if he himself didn’t know the answer to what was asked. 

“Because- because it was my fault you ended up here. I couldn’t just leave you and do nothing about it,” Connor says.

“Connor, I’m a machine. It doesn’t bother me what you do or don’t when it comes to emotional obligations.” 

“Yes, I know that, you’ve said it enough times already,” Connor says, biting his lip. “But Fowler put me in charge of these cases, and if it so happens that you’re assigned to them too, then to me, you’re not just a machine. You’re my partner.” 

Partner. 

As Connor looks up from under his lashes with a quiet sense of determination, Hank feels thrown off his feet. The word echoes in his mind, lingering sweetly like a child’s first taste of candy. (Somewhere at the back of his mind, something warns him to stay away before it becomes an addiction, but he shuts it up.) Hank had never thought of the two of them in that way before, but coming from Connor’s lips, it sounded...quite nice.

**Author's Note:**

> I've made a twitter (icelyvelvet) for writing, but mostly for DBH stuff. This turned out a lot longer than I intended...feel free to leave support if you'd like to see more!
> 
> EDIT: A big mess with the connection while struggling to upload this caused it to upload like 15 times! So sorry, deleting the extras.  
> EDIT 2: Fixed.


End file.
